


Bed Sheets Soaked in Wine

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13933230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: Hermione was set to marry Ron tomorrow, so she should have been happy right? So why was she craving another mans touch?





	1. Of Hermione and Sirius -or- Let's Wine About It

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TheForbiddenFruit](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TheForbiddenFruit) collection. 



 

 

 

 **A/N:** We grow up watching Disney movies where the princess is always saved by the prince, and they live happily ever after. Then, when we grow up, we realize that disney movies, while they taught us magic, didn't teach us reality. Luckily, this isn't reality. This is my first work, so be wary, reader, for you may either hate me, but you might fall in love. Such is the way the world turns. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Silage \- (n) the scent that lingers in the air, _

_the trail left in the water,_

_the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone;_

_the trace of_ someones _perfume._

 

 

* * *

 

There was riotous laughter filling the halls and vibrating the walls throughout Grimmauld Place and she smiled, somewhat exasperated. She had asked for a simple dinner amongst friends and family the night before her wedding, but she should have known. With the whole Weasley clan and Order involved, such things as “quiet” were impossible.

Harry was sitting across from her next to Ron, laughing at the antics of Fred and George, both of whom had somehow obtained pink skin. Ginny was heckling Tonks about having more children, rubbing her hands over her own swollen abdomen. Kingsley was discussing a new piece of Legislation with Arthur on leniency for misdemeanor crimes and setting up a probationary system, not unlike the probation programs muggles had. Remus was sitting next to Sirius speaking in hushed undertones, though the Black heir hardly seemed to be paying heed to whatever was being said if the smirk on his face was any indication.

She supposed, as she sipped her glass of wine - she’d gone through almost a whole bottle on her own, that she should’ve felt beyond elated that it was finally here. Here she was, five years after the war, and she was finally to become Hermione Weasley. Most were surprised that the two had waited so long to wed, as Harry and Ginny hadn’t. But Hermione was of a more practical sort, and every time the subject of matrimony came up, the only thing that popped into her head was a resounding _why_?

That wasn’t to say that she didn’t love Ron. She loved him to the depths of her soul and more. They’d been best friends for twelve years and lovers for five. He knew her deepest fears and her aspirations, hopes, and dreams. He knew her heart.

 

So why wasn’t she a blushing bride?

 

 _Because he does not know your desire,_ a dark voice in the back of her head answered.

Admittedly, their sex life was not what one would call… exciting. It got the job done for him, at least, and Hermione was all about making sure he was happy. When they were eighteen and blushing virgins, they had held onto one another as they had finally succumbed to their passion for each other, for all of three minutes. Hermione had logically assumed that first times were not as magical as one would have hoped. Surely things would only get better as they got older and more comfortable with each other.

At least the timing had improved, she thought bitterly.

Ron, bless him, was not a very strong lover. He was clumsy, almost sloppy. His kisses were open-mouthed with an alarming amount of saliva. His breath was always too heavy against her ear and they never, ever, got creative during their escapades. Hermione tried to explore new territory with him, but he was just not interested. Sex, to him, was just not a broad spectrum of possibilities. It was wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, to him. Maybe she could have been happy with it, but she never got to the _thank you, ma’am._ She had never climaxed because of Ron Weasley, but nobody knew that. It had gotten to the point to where she would flex her walls around him as he drove in and out of her, as it would quicken his own release. Or she would go down on him to avoid the laborious job of having to fake her moans and groans of impending release. That was always the quickest. Not that he ever reciprocated. Honestly, she was afraid of what would happen to her vagina if he ever tried.

 

So why was she marrying Ron Weasley?

 

Because he was home. He was freshly mown grass and parchment, and wool sweaters and spearmint toothpaste. He was treacle tart and dopey smiles and bashful hand holding. He was her first love, her only love. He was loyal, and kind, if not a bit temperamental. Ron Weasley had always been there to protect her, and she him. Marriages had been founded on a lot less.

“-you listening to me?” Hermione snapped out of her thoughts to turn to Ginny.

“I’m sorry, Gin. What were you saying?” She smiled when Ginny glared at her.

“I said,” she began in an obnoxiously loud tone, gaining the attention of the guests nearest to her, “that since you did not indulge me with a hen night you’ll have to give me a girls night when you and Ron return from your honeymoon!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Of course, Gin. Anyone want another brew?” She waved her glass around and most of the members cheered their acquiescence.

“I’ll help you, love,” Sirius said, standing up to follow her into the kitchen, stopping at the island whilst she busied herself pouring drinks.

Hermione felt somewhat awkward. She could feel his eyes on her, and could not decide if it was just her or if the tension she felt was tangible to him as well. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it, but had never felt quite courageous enough to ask him what he was looking at. To be fair, she was scared of his answer. She knew Harry looked at Sirius as a sort of father/friend figure, Ron looked up to him like another older brother, and she knew Sirius reciprocated these feelings with them in turn. War had forged an unbreakable bond amongst friends and family. But if Hermione were being honest with herself, she would say that no, those were not the same feelings she had in regards to the man. She didn’t think he felt that way about her, either.

He’d always held her opinion in the highest regard, and never belittled her when she prattled on about whatever crusade she had adopted. He would always engage her in these conversations, listening intently and proving over and over that Azkaban and the veil had not taken his keen mind from him. Sirius Black was an enigma, something she hadn’t quite figured out, something that frustrated her at times. But what did this even matter? She was getting married! She had no time to entertain such notions of frivolity when she had a party to attend to!

“Hermione, are you okay?” Sirius asked from behind her, causing her to turn around and bring her up short as she realized he was closer than anticipated. She could see the crows feet that had begun to gather in the corners of his eyes. His beard was growing wilder these days. But those eyes were still something to look at. They pierced into her with concern.

“I’m fine, love,” she assured him, smiling a little at the way his mouth quirked up when she touched his cheek reassuringly. “Just lost in my thoughts, is all. I cannot seem to get my brain to shut off!”

“Aye, but a beautiful brain it is, kitten,” he said, pecking her cheek ducking away from her as she swatted at him for the endearment.

Sirius let his laughter fill the kitchen, the sound resonating as he made to take some of the drinks from her to deliver to the guests in the other room.  

The guests cheered as drinks were passed around the table, and Hermione reclaimed her seat as Arthur and Molly called for the attention of their motley crew.

“Arthur and I,” Molly began emotionally, “would just like to say that it is an honor to know each and every one of you. Hermione dear-” she turned her gaze towards the younger witch, ”we love you as our own, have for a while now. I can not wait to call you my daughter officially!”

Arthur nodded his agreement, “You’ve been an unofficial Weasley for a long time, and Molly and myself couldn’t be more proud of the people you and Ron have grown into, as individuals and as a couple. To Ron and Hermione!” He raised his glass and everyone at the table responded in kind, toasting to the two as Ron caught her gaze and mouthed _I love you,_ to her from across the table. She smiled at him, watching his eyes as they lit up. She really was a lucky witch.

The gathered crowd paused again when a loud clearing of a throat was heard, and the group turned to the head of the table where Sirius was standing. Remus was shaking his head but remained seated.

“As the host of this shindig, it is only proper that I be the next one to make a toast.” He raised his glass, taking a deep breath before speaking, “To Ron and Hermione,” he said. “May your lives be filled with love, joy, kindness and kinship. I wish you two the utmost serenity, and may all of your arguments end in hot sex when that serenity is disturbed.” He laughed when Remus hit him, and the crowd chuckled at Hermione’s red face.

“Seriously,” He began once everyone had calmed down. “I hope you both have more happy times than sad. I hope that your world brightens a little more each day, and may you _never_ ,” he looked directly at her, his eyes clouded, “go wanting. To Ron and Hermione.”

She took a generous gulp from her wine glass, thinking that the way his eyes bored into her, and the connotation of his words, were inappropriate. She felt the heat, starting from her core and radiating throughout her body. She berated herself for overthinking. There was no way his words were filled with innuendo on _purpose_. But damn if her body didn’t respond to it.

 

* * *

 

 

After another hour or so the party started to wind down. Arthur and Molly were the first to leave, followed shortly by the older members of the Order. Everyone kissed her cheek and bid her farewells with the promise of seeing her tomorrow at the reception. After awhile, it was only Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Remus and Sirius left in Grimmauld Place. They agreed to have a shot of firewhiskey before retiring. Ron was to be staying with Harry and Ginny, as the temperamental redhead had stated that _no_ , Ron was to not see Hermione until she was walking down the aisle.

As Hermione walked Ron to the door, they stood there silently, looking at each other pensively. “You know I love you right?” he asked quietly, his eyes troubled.  

Somewhat baffled by his sombre tone, she nodded. “As I, you.”

He smiled and gave her a chaste kiss, “I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

Hermione laughed, “I’ll be the one in white.”

Ron laughed aloud at her, “That was almost convincing. You’re going to be miserable tomorrow morning, ‘Mione. I will try to keep Ginny away from you at least until daylight, but I make no promises.”

Hermione groaned.

Ron, still snickering said, “We can still elope. You know I hate suits.”

Hermione had honestly not thought about eloping and the look on her face told Ron she was seriously considering it. “Your mother and Ginny would murder us. We will just have to suffer together. I love you, Ron.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

He gave her one last fleeting smile before he disapparated. Hermione leaned against the dark walls of the foyer, suddenly feeling very weary. There was a clawfoot bath in her bedroom that beckoned her forward. She stopped back by the kitchen to grab another glass of wine and found Sirius, Remus and Tonks whispering to each other heatedly. Hermione paused to listen.

“-like he wouldn’t tell me?” Tonks scoffed, “I am his mate, Sirius.”

Sirius glared at her, then to Remus. “Traitor,” he stated petulantly.

Remus rolled his eyes, “Oh honestly Sirius, it is not as though anyone who bothered to look would not see that -”

“Hey guys,” Hermione said, coming into the room and effectively silencing them. “Is everything okay?”

“Hermione!” Sirius exclaimed, smiling tightly at her. “Did Ron leave?”

“Yes,” Hermione stated, her brow furrowed. “He’s in a weird mood, but that’s normal, I guess.”

“Probably just nerves,” Remus replied knowingly.

“Yeah, when Remus and I eloped he was so afraid I would leave him that he passed out.”

Hermione and Sirius burst out laughing, and Remus sulkily glared muttering under his breath about “traitorous friends,” and “tattle telling wives.”

“Oh, Remus dear, you know we love you.” Hermione brushed his cheek consolingly.

“My wife and I are going to bed,” he stated petulantly, grabbing Tonks’ hand and heading towards the staircase. “She needs to be taught a lesson,” he grinned wolfishly, winking at Hermione whose face burned red, and Sirius who was cackling. Tonks slapped his rear and raced up stairs, and Hermione could hear them giggling until the decisive shutting of their bedroom door silenced them.

“On that note,” she turned to Sirius, who was still chuckling quietly, “there’s a bath with my name on it. Goodnight, Sirius.” She kissed his cheek, breathing in his clean scent. It was mouthwatering.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear. She felt herself warm over again, and hastily retreated to the safety of her bedroom, knowing that try as she might, she couldn’t not be curious.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The flames of the fire had been burning for a while, and there he sat, scotch in one hand, while the other casually draped across the armrest of the burgundy knole sofa. His body was positioned so lackadaisical that, to the random observer, he appeared the definition of relaxed. Only in his eyes, if one looked, could you see the pensiveness, and trouble that brewed within his otherwise stoic appearance.  That fire danced in his eyes, the flickering orange turning his iris into a desert storm, with wind and lighting. It was symbolic of the feelings Sirius tried so hard to hide from everyone, from her.

There was a point in time where Sirius would have not been so conflicted. Self restraint had never been his forte, but in this, he was impressed with himself. Hermione had been the unattainable thing he’d admired for longer than he cared to admit. Even as a teenager, he’d found her indulging, and had adored her immensely. He had never looked at her like _that_ , of course, but she’d been a breath of fresh air and warmth that his well worn soul hadn’t experienced in well over a decade.

She’d been the first face he’d seen when she pulled him from the veil after the end of the war. He’d remembered being hit with a Stunner by his insane cousin, Bellatrix, and Sirius had felt his conscience slip away from him. But when he came to, there she was, leaning over him with that mane of hair flowing so much longer than a second ago, and her face was different, no longer childlike. Hermione had been smiling through her tears as she had ran her hands over his face, telling him how much she’d missed him and through her mumbling he realized that he hadn’t blacked out. He had actually died. The thought still befuddled him to this day. Once he understood the rest of her rambling, how she had found a way to bring him back, his world tilted on its axis. A piece of himself he never knew was missing fell into place, and he knew he would never not love her.

Once he found out she was with Ron, a boy who Sirius loved as his family, he braced himself for the reality that love was sometimes unrequited. Not that she didn’t love him, she always told him as much. Just not in the way his heart wished she would.

But Sirius was not one to pine, no. He loved, and fiercely, so he was her friend first. Her companion in the ups and downs of her young life. He enjoyed debating with her for the simple fact that she was beautifully passionate and even more so when she was angry, and she was angry at him a lot.

He was the first to hug her and shake Ron's hand when they’d announced their engagement. The first to offer his substantial wealth to cover everything, because the young couple deserved so much more than the hand they’d been dealt in their younger years. He was the one to host Ron’s stag night - the young lad was completely pissed when Sirius had delivered him to Hermione in the early hours of the next morning. Sirius still had a scar on his hairline from where she’d hexed him. He sometimes stared at it fondly.

He sighed and took a sip of his scotch, courtesy of the Black Family reserves. It had been getting more difficult to stay away from her as the impending wedding came upon them. He found himself unable to help staring at her, sitting closer to her, hugging her a little longer, as though she would disappear forever. He found himself dreaming of her, spread out for him, wanting him the same way that he wanted her.

He’d thought it impossible, but… the part of him that was more canine than _man_ , well, those senses were making it difficult for him to think straight. He could smell her tonight, when he had caught her staring at him. It was a heady scent, that smelled of warm summer rain, and something floral, like honeysuckle. Remus had noticed too, and the discussion he had with Sirius only ended with Sirius brushing him off, denying it completely. That scent washed over him more potently after he gave the couple-to-be a toast. He had almost jumped across the table.

Now she was upstairs, asleep and dreaming of becoming Hermione Weasley, and all he could do was watch her leave him, though she was never his anyway.

He was going to need another drink.

“Sirius?”

She was standing in the doorway, clad in a robe, cabernet swirling in the glass she was holding.

“Hermione,” he replied, donning his smile he reserved only for her. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I tried to,” she shrugged her shoulders, and sat down on the middle cushion of the sofa, right next to him. He could feel how warm she was. She turned towards him, tucking her legs and bringing the wine to her lips, sighing as the flavor rolled over her tongue.

Sirius clenched his fist.

“I can’t seem to settle, I feel so restless,” she leant into the couch, looking at him and smiling ruefully. He nodded in understanding, he could certainly empathize.

“That brain of yours is your best friend, and your worst enemy it seems,” he chuckled.

They laughed together for awhile, and talked about inconsequential things. She teased him about the last tart she’d seen doing the walk of shame out of his bedroom two weeks ago.

“Come on, Sirius, the girl was wearing fishnets!” Hermione laughed, “She looked like a dominatrix!”

“Oh love, she was a good time, don’t be judgy.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he smiled at her childlike behavior. He loved it when she laughed, almost as much as when she was angry.

“You’re disgusting,” she quipped. He pinched her side and she squealed, shoving him away. Their laughter mingled for awhile as they calmed, him taking a swig of his scotch, and her sipping her wine. Eventually she was calm again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He gazed back at her and smirked, gesturing for her to continue.

She took a breath, “Are you lonely?”

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue and her question resonated in his mind. She never did what he expected.

“What makes you think I’m lonely?” he asked her.

“Oh, come on, Sirius. You parade around with different women every few weeks. You can’t honestly like doing it.”

“Oi,” he said defensively, “I like sex, there isn’t anything wrong with what I do. Those women certainly don’t complain either. It’s not like I’ve found a girl who wants me too, so I do what I need to, to get what I want.”  
“I wasn’t saying it was wrong,” she said backtracking, “I just worry about you.”

His anger died.

“Don’t worry about me, love,” he said, taking her hand, “I’m not unhappy, mostly.”

He wondered if she felt it, that electrical current that seemed to pass between them when he touched her skin. Her hands were soft despite the strength he knew they possessed, he’d borne the brunt of her strikes in the past. Those small hands were strong, he mused. He imagined what they would feel like threading through his hair, or curled around his shoulders as she pulled him closer. No, he thought. Those thoughts were too dangerous to think about while he was touching her.

 _It’s the night before her wedding,_ he told himself, _she doesn’t want you, quit being selfish._

She studied him, almost as if she was looking for any sign of deception. Hermione was intuitive that way, and so he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. Her stare made his nerves come alive, and he shook himself.

“My turn,” he said abruptly, “can I ask _you_ a question?”

She nodded, and he took a breath, knowing he shouldn’t ask because his nerves were strained, and she was there smelling sweet like that honey shampoo she used, and there was a small, desperate part of him that needed to know before she was lost forever.

“Why are you unhappy?”

She started, looking up to find him staring at her intently, and she was once again reminded that Sirius Black was beautiful. His eyes were the color of a thunderstorm, greys and silvers leading downward into a black pupil that dilated when she looked at him. He had high cheekbones and a jaw she’d dreamt about biting, even now as scruffy as it was. His hair was thick and fell in waves down just past his shoulders. A lean body, muscular even, from all of his hard work to regain what Azkaban had taken from him. Yes, Sirius Black was beautiful. More beautiful when he was staring at her with concern and something else she couldn’t identify.

She felt compelled to be honest with him, “I thought I’d be more excited. I thought that I would have butterflies and would be nervous. I thought this would _feel_ different.”

He stared at her intently, searching for something. She wondered if he found her lacking. Hermione was brilliant beyond measure and could banter with the best of them, but what did that mean when it came to laws of attraction? She and Sirius had their fair share of conversations pertaining to his promiscuous ways, but he’d always smile at her, telling her when he found someone as perfect as she was he’d settle down. She would laugh and then hit him. But that’s what she loved about Sirius, he was easy going and she could tell him anything.

“What does it feel like?” he whispered quietly.

“Sirius, I love Ron. I love him so much it hurts. But it feels anticlimactic! Our family and friends are so ecstatic for us, and he… and they… and I just sit here and wonder - is this it? Is this passionless life and sneaking off to the shower to finish myself off after he’s passed out… is that what I want? Then I think of everything else and feel really selfish and ungrateful. He is unbelievably loyal, and kind. He’s selflessly brave. Should I really be complaining over _one small thing_?”

He was silent as he regarded her, his eyes slightly glazed as he looked at her, measuring her. The amount of tension between the two was so thick she could smell it… taste it. He had edged closer to her, though she wasn’t aware if it was intentional.

“That doesn’t sound selfish,” he whispered. “The fact that you’re worried about being selfish actually tells me that you’re the exact opposite. You’re always putting people before yourself. Your wants, always on the back burner.” He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, and she shivered from the intimacy of the gesture.

“That’s no way to live.”

She scoffed, self-deprecating. “And what do you know of it, Sirius? When have you been selfless with someone other than Harry? Or your friends? It’s not like you’ve had real experience with this.”

He then very obviously stared at her. His gaze traveled the length of her body, slowly. When he finally held her gaze again, he was closer still.

“I’ve never been selfish with you.”  

She swallowed, feeling slightly breathless, “As I said, with the exception of Harry and your _friends_ -“

“I think you and I both know that we’ve never been friends,” he said dangerously. His fingers reached out, brushing her cheek before taking her chin between them, forcing her head up to meet his gaze.

Her mouth went dry, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. That same warm feeling from earlier ignited her veins, like liquid fire, the flames licked her skin and burned her very soul. His nostrils flared.

“Sirius don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this now.”

Neither one of them realized they were both standing.

The sad reality was that she knew it too. Over the years, since he was spat out of the veil shortly after Voldemort’s downfall, Sirius Black had been far more important to her than she would ever admit out loud. She also knew that he would stare at her when he thought she wasn't looking. But she had never allowed herself to dwell on it, because she could not take the risk of losing herself to someone like Sirius Black.

“Tell me to walk away,” he said in desperation. “Tell me you don’t want me to taste you just once. Tell me you don’t want me to love you one time before you’re bound to someone else. Tell me that you’ve not felt this-“ he gestured between them, “and I will step back, and never say another word about it.”

Her blood sang for him, of that she was certain. Every cell in her body was burned by his touch, his voice, the feeling he gave her when he was looking at her like that. His voice had taken on a furious quality, because Sirius Black always got what he wanted and Merlin-be-damned, he wanted her. All that mattered in that moment was the promise of what he would do for her, with her, _to_ her. Somehow, her brain disconnected from her body and she felt herself reach upward and kiss him.

He wasted no time reciprocating her ministrations. His tongue invaded her mouth with precise movement, assuring her that he lived up to his reputation. One hand moved to grip the nape of her neck while the other pulled her upward; her legs wrapped around his waist as if they were meant to be there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He was selfish, of that much he was sure. But as soon as she was on him, all thoughts of doing the right thing disappeared. All he could focus on was the taste of her lips, punishing his own. He laid her down on the persian rug in one smooth motion, their mouths fighting for dominance, but never breaking apart. The burnished flames crackled in the background. He kissed her, bruising her lips as his tongue massaged her own, whiskey and wine melting together deliciously. One hand bracing himself above her, his other reached down and bunched the bottom of her robe in his clenched fist.

_This is happening._

_She tastes so good._

_This isn’t right, I’m getting married tomorrow._

_She’s perfect._

_He’s making me breathless, I can’t think._

_I can’t stop touching her._

_Please don’t stop._

Her hands fisted in those black locks and tugged, eliciting a growl that rumbled through his chest and he pulled away, hovering over her. Staring. Hermione was flushed, her skin a beautiful pink, her eyes dilated and chest heaving. She was ravenous. With Ron, there was nothing but disappointment and disinterest. But this, with him… this burned. She reached up, making to unbutton his shirt when he stopped her.

“Hermione,” he said, desperate. “I don’t think I can stop.”

Her stare liquified his soul, scorched his blood, and his nostrils flared as that scent hit him full force. Her gaze burned through him.

“Then don’t.”

He waved one hand behind him and the doors to the library slid shut, and the lock clicked into place. He muttered a soft _silencio,_ waved his hand towards her, suddenly vanishing her robe to reveal nothing underneath but a pair of lacy black knickers.

Seeing his namesake on her skin, where he wanted to be most, threw him over the edge. He lowered himself to her breasts, sucking and biting her flesh as she moaned incomprehensible words above him. He made his way up, sucking on the pulse point in her neck before whispering into her ear.

“I’m going to make you say my name, love,” he whispered. “I’m going to savor every taste, and I’m going to make you remember me.”

Hermione could only nod breathlessly, scared that her voice would crack and ruin the moment because, Merlin, she never wanted this to end. His hands roamed her body freely, and she ground her hips upward towards him, causing him to laugh darkly.

“Uh-uh,” he teased, “be patient, love.”

He kissed her softly, before working his way back down to her breasts, making sure to pay homage to them before making his way lower, all teeth and tongue and open mouthed kisses until he reached those damn infuriating knickers. He could feel the warmth from her core radiating on his face, and ever so softly he placed a kiss on her seam.

She could’ve cried.

“ _Evanesco,”_ he whispered, and she was bare before him. He groaned as he smelled her arousal at full force for the first time. He was intoxicated. She was warm rain, honeyed perfection, and as he began devouring her he couldn’t help but think that he could stay here forever and still not be satiated. With every lick, she thrashed above him whimpering and groaning, her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth was parted slightly. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

Hermione felt exposed. No one had ever done _this_ to her, and she was nervous. Sirius was a master at his craft, playing her body like a finely tuned instrument until she was singing for him. Every moan she couldn’t contain played a melody he was so accustomed to hearing and yet it floored him by how different he felt when it was _her_ song he was playing.

His previously languid licking became more forceful as his mouth latched onto her clit and his index finger found her entrance, pushing and pulling in tandem with his tongue.

Hermione was shaking uncontrollably, her fingers moved from his hair to prop herself up so she could look at the beautiful man.

He was working her over, bringing her to the precipice and then backing off again. When he met her gaze he smirked at her through his ministrations.

“That’s right, love,” he said, taking in the way her legs were shaking, chest heaving, and her eyes were nearly black with arousal.

He inserted a second finger.

Hermione fell over the edge. She had never believed in heaven, but she assumed that this feeling would be close to it. Doing it herself had never brought her this much pleasure, and she knew it was because of him. All for him.

Sirius watched her fall apart in front of him and immediately vanished the rest of his clothing. He was harder than he’d ever been, and while he’d been patient because he wanted to please her first, it was time. He was going to take her, and he did.

He fluidly crawled up her body, his mouth found her again and he plunged inside her to the hilt.

“Oh, God,” she cried.

“Just Sirius, love, not god.” His dark smirk turned her on and though she couldn’t fight him for his insufferable ego, Hermione's hands yanked on his hair, pulling him to her roughly as her legs wrapped around his waist.

He drove in and out of her, pistoning and snapping his hips, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched her sighs of ecstasy when he found that sweet spot. She was tight around him, so wet, and he was delirious, lost in her.

He’d never felt like this with a woman before. Sirius should’ve known she was the exception to the rule. He could feel their magic sparking around him, two different energies meshing and mingling together to create a harmony that he had thought only existed in fairytales.

She felt like life and whiskey, she felt like every single sunrise he had ever seen and felt hotter than the embers of that now dying fire in front of them. He felt her walls fluttering around him and knew she was close.

He drove into her fast and hard, trying to get her there knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Come for me, love,” he coaxed her, rubbing his thumb against her swollen clit, eliciting a guttural response from her that he silenced when he kissed her again.

As he kissed her, Hermione came, long and hard as Sirius pushed in and out of her for a few seconds longer before he stilled, his brow furrowed, mouth open and eyes closed. She was in awe. He was handsome when he was flirting, he was beautiful when he was compassionate. But he was never more perfect than in that moment.

They lay there for a while, her hand on his chest while he stroked her hair and back softly.

It was silent, as though they knew everything would be ruined the moment they spoke. Yet, they had to. Hermione realized that everything she had felt for him was real, and requited, and they were compatible in the bedroom as well as out… and it didn’t matter. A glance at the grandfather clock told her it was just after three in the morning, and it was her wedding day.

She sat up and looked at him finally, finding that his eyes were already sad, knowing that she had to go. She made to speak but he cut her off.

“I know,” he said, “I know that you love Ron, and I do too. I think you aren’t in love with him, nor he you. But you love each other too much to hurt the other. So you’re still getting married,” he said with a heavy heart. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, Sirius,” she choked out, “it means _everything._ But we can’t hurt Ron, or disappoint our family.”

He nodded in understanding, they were both too duty bound, and loyal to a fault. He stared at her naked form, immortalizing every curvature of her body into his mind, knowing that this was the last time he’d see her like this, young and perfect, looking at him the way he’d always wanted.

She, too, was trying to remember this moment, because though their friendship would continue, and they would see each other more often than not, Hermione knew she would never see this part of him again. She would never have his heart in her hands, never see him want her again, and she was sick at the thought. But, Hermione was getting married today.

She kissed him softly, and pulled her robe on. He mimicked her motions, buttoning up his pants and then pulling her into his arms.

“I love you,” he said, his voice was barely audible, but Hermione heard it loud and clear.

“I think I love you too,” she said, her eyes burning. “I wish it changed anything.”

Sirius kissed the top of her head, blinking back the moisture in his own eyes, and lightly shoved her out of the library. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride, now go.”

He watched her walk up the stairs and heard her door open and shut quietly, taking the last remnants of his battered heart with her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hermione!” Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger gasped as they stepped into her boudoir, examining her with tears in their eyes. Ginny had outdone herself. Hermione was always pretty, but today she looked radiant.

Her hair was long and flowing, in beach curls rather than the kinky curls she was accustomed to. Her makeup was minimal, only highlighting her natural features.

Her dress was a simple a-line bodice with a sweetheart neckline. There were rhinestones across the bodice that twinkled when the light caught them. The dress itself was made of chiffon, and the train was nothing dramatic. Ginny had tried to get Hermione to choose a different dress, but Hermione liked this one. Pretty, and simple, just like her.

“Okay, Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley said, “This tiara was my grandmother Prewetts, it’s been in the family for as long as anyone can remember. I would be honored if you would wear it on the day you become my daughter.“

Hermione was ashamed, and blinked back tears as Mrs. Weasley fastened the tiara to the crown of her head.

Mrs. Granger stepped forward next, holding new box in her hands. “My little girl,” she said tearfully, “I had hoped you would get to see this day, what with your life being so dangerous at times.” She glared half heartedly at her daughter, who smiled sheepishly through her tears. “These sapphires represent the best day of my life, the day you were born. I hope,” she sniffed as she placed them into her ears, “that though they are new to you, that you can give them to your daughter on the best day of her life, as something old.”

Hermione hugged her mother fiercely, wishing more than ever that she could go back in time and be a little girl again, to feel safe in her mother's arms again.

Ginny cleared her throat as she stepped into Hermione's line of vision, and Hermione smiled at her vivacious friend. “Here,” she said, stuffing a silver garter into Hermione’s hands, causing her to blush furiously. Ginny laughed.

“I want that back,” the red-head warned.

Hermione laughed and slid the garter up her stocking clad foot.

A knock on the door disturbed the serendipitous feeling and Ginny rushed to the door.

“What?” Ginny snapped.

“It’s me!” Rons muffled voice could be heard from the door, “I need to talk to Hermione, now!”

“No, Ron,” Ginny screeched, “No seeing the bride before the wedding!” Hermione was pretty sure she stomped her foot.

“Gin, I don’t care about stupid traditions, I need to talk to Hermione, and I need to talk to her now!”

“Fine! But you better put this mask on!” Ginny flung the door open and pulled an eye mask over Ron’s face, obscuring his vision. Ron brushed her off vehemently and felt his way into the room, telling everyone to leave in the process.

“Ron?” Hermione asked, concerned for the man, “What’s wrong?”

He shuddered a breath before taking his mask off and looking into her eyes.

“Hermione, I’m gay,” he stated, desperately reaching for her hands, grasping them in his own. “I thought I could control it, that if I ignored it I could be a good husband to you. That I wouldn't feel this way anymore if I could just love you hard enough. I had an affair, and I don’t know why I chose now to tell you this, I guess I’m just too guilty to not ruin this day, but Hermione, you’re my best friend. I love you so much and I couldn’t stand the thought of marrying you without you knowing the truth, even if it breaks your heart. I couldn’t lie to you anymore. You deserve so much better than me. I understand if you never forgive me, I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Hermione was shocked, to say the least. Ron was the last person she would expect to be gay, what with his prejudices as a child. But people grow, they change, they develop into people that they themselves can’t recognize. Hermione had known Ron since she was eleven years old. A lifetime of heartbreak, and love, friendship and trust. No, Hermione would never, ever, not forgive Ron Weasley.

She hugged him, feeling his shoulders sigh in relief and then quickly shudder as he tried to suppress his guilt and sadness. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to have to hide who you are, and she felt her heart break for her best friend, lover, and confidant. Slow tears descended her face, and he pulled away to look at her. His eyes, cerulean blue, were red rimmed, wet with his shame.

“Ron,” Hermione said, “I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore, either. But, we can’t turn our backs on our families, not to mention wizards are still very archaic. It could be dangerous for you to not be married and continue dating this guy.”

In events of extreme stress or crisis, Hermione’s brain would always fall back on that unfailing logic. Ron stared at her knowingly. Wizards did were about as open minded as their muggle counterparts, if not worse. Equal rights was a worldwide issue, even in the new millenium.

“What do we do, then?” Ron asked, rubbing her hand with his own. “We get married, then what? Mione, I want you to be happy too.” his voice was small. “I don’t want you giving up love for me.”

“Oh, Ron, you and Harry are who I live for. When the time comes, you and I will get a divorce, it’s not as though you and I are entering into a traditional marriage contract between two pureblood families. You and I get married, you can continue seeing this boy to see where it goes, and we go from there. I expect to meet him though,” Hermione glared at him, “and soon.”

“Who did you sleep with?” Hermione asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her.

“You can’t say anything,” Ron cautioned her, “even Harry doesn’t know about this.”

She nodded.

Ron took a deep breath, and exhaled, “It’s Neville.”

“Seriously?” Hermione was gobsmacked, “Well, now that I think about it, he always did seem a bit queer. I’m glad you two have found each other.”

She kissed his cheek sweetly, and for a second they were eleven again, and he had just saved her life from a mountain troll. In those secret smiles shared between two souls, she knew that she and Ron could do this. To protect him, and herself, she thought, she could do anything.

“So Hermione, you said you weren’t in love with me anymore. Is there someone else?”

She froze, and he narrowed his gaze at her as though he were daring her to lie to him. The silent war lasted only a few seconds before her shoulders slumped and she finally admitted,

“I slept with Sirius last night.”

Ron was silent for a heart beat, before making a small smile at her, “Yeah,” he said, “I could see that happening.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Ron confirmed, “That man has a torch for you like no one else. Trust me, maybe straight men don’t notice, but I’ve stared at him enough to know just how much he watches you. You could do worse, Mione. He’s very good looking.”

She chuckled, “That can’t happen, not for a while at least. I need to be on my own for a while I think. I need to know he loves me.”

Ron rolled his eyes, “Mione you’re marrying me today, you’re sending the worst possible signals to the man. Just tell him what we’re doing, he will understand.”

Hermione bowed her head, “I don’t think so.”

Ron snorted, “Bullshit. Hermione, I spent my entire adulthood trying to make up for all the ways I put you down as a stupid teenage boy, but you still don’t see yourself clearly. I wish I could be who we both needed me to be. You are perfect, always were. Sirius knows that. He knows how self sacrificing you are. He loves you.”

“Shut up,” Hermione said, standing up and pulling him up and into her embrace once more. “Come marry me, you slag.”

Ron laughed, “Look at the pot calling the cauldron black.”

 

* * *

 

 

The wedding coordinator Sirius had hired really outdid herself, Sirius mused, as he sat in one of the pews on the family side of the aisle. It was a perfect autumn sunset, not very cool, but the sweltering heat of the summer had definitely passed. The rows of chairs were alternating Gryffindor Red and Gold, paying homage to the couple’s outstanding sense of courage. Little fairy lights twinkled above the guests, changing colors and occasionally flying to talk to their nearest friends - fairies were gossipers in that way. The gazebo under which the couple was to meet was breathtaking. A golden archway stood fifteen feet high with red and white orchids coming up and around the arch, little lights illuminating the petals. Red and white sheer material fell around the outer edges of the gazebo, and a small string quartet stood to the back, playing a serene lullaby. The effect was beautiful.

Sirius felt someone sit next to him, and knew it was Remus.

“Are you okay?” His friend asked, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve just been tired,” Sirius said sulkily.

“Yeah, I bet,” Remus responded, “Considering the faint smell coming from the Library, I’d say you were up pretty late.”

Sirius sent him a warning glare, “Don’t,” he said quietly, “It was inevitable, and I don’t need your judgement.”

Remus looked at him understandingly, “I just don’t want to see you hurt, Padfoot,” he whispered softly.

Sirius’ glare faltered, and he sighed wearily. “She loves me, or could love me. But she’s bound by duty, by loyalty. I understand that more than anything, so I let her go, Remus. I already fucked up. She already feels guilty. I can’t do anything more to hurt her… them,” he corrected himself.

Remus was silent, and Sirius waited for the response he knew was coming.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “maybe you should be selfish for once, Padfoot. That’s all I’m saying. People will hurt, regardless. But everyone hurts when there is dishonesty and lies involved. None of you deserve that.” Tonks approached their section then, and Remus patted his friend on the knee gently, before greeting his wife with a chaste kiss and serene smile.

Sirius wanted that.

Ron and Harry came to stand at the forefront of the gazebo. Harry ruffled his hair, clearly embarrassed at being under everyone’s stare again. Just like his father, Sirius smiled half-heartedly. James was never embarrassed at being the center of attention, no. But he did have an annoying habit of messing his hair up when girls, especially Lily, were looking.

Wagner's _Lohengrin_ started, and Sirius stood with the rest of the audience to get a view of the bride. Sirius’ felt his heart drop.

She was breathtaking. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, and he wished more than ever that _he_ was the one she was walking towards. He could see a future that may have been for them. A new house, with little curly-headed children with gray eyes running around. Making love to her every day after making her angry. Growing older with her, surrounded by children's children until he took his last breath with her holding his hand.

She walked calmly towards Ron, smiling at everyone who caught her gaze as she did. When she caught his, her smile faltered a bit, and her eyes tightened. Sirius gave her a wistful smile and a small nod. As she took her place beside Ron, both of their mothers could be heard sniffling in the distance.

A short man stepped up to the podium to clear his throat,“Today,” he began,” we have come together to witness the joining of these two lives. For them, out of the routine of ordinary life, the extraordinary has happened. They met each other, fell in love and are finalizing it with their wedding. A good marriage doesn’t just come into being, it takes work. It is falling in love with your partner over and over again. It is trial and tribulation. It is sacrifice. It is never being too old to hold hands. It’s remembering to say I love you every day and it is not just marrying the right person... it’s being the right partner.”

The officiate was the same wispy haired man that had been the spokesman at Dumbledore's funeral all those years ago. He spoke of love, and harmony. Kinship, faith, togetherness, hope, sickness, friendship and prosperity. He spoke of two people who had the world at their feet and how loved they were by society. He spoke of the great achievements they’d accomplished, together and seperate. He spoke of love in its simplicity, and that it was to never be denied. Sirius started breathing faster.

“I can’t do this, Moony,” he whispered, his palms sweaty.

Remus looked at him painfully, and clenched his friend’s hand, whether for comfort or restraint, Sirius wasn’t quite sure.

The wispy wizard continued, “A successful marriages requires two people giving and receiving love the way the other needs -”

“Sirius,” Remus said in a low voice, “I need you to stay calm.”

Everything the officiate was saying was surging through him, creating divots and wrong turns into the path he had set on creating without her. His magic sparked inside of him, and he could feel it reaching out towards her, hungry to feel her again. How could he live without her? How could this be wrong? How could he spend the rest of his life never touching her? He couldn’t. The minute she kissed him, Sirius should have known he was lost, that it would never be enough. He should’ve asked her to pick him, to choose to wake up to him making love to her every morning.

 _It should be me,_ he thought desperately.

“ - and should anyone find a reason as to why these two should not be wed,” the wispy wizard was saying, “speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Sirius stood up.

 

 

The End.... for now

 

 


	2. Of Reverence and Regret -or- Of Ron and Neville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All! After 8 months, here it is! The next installment of BedSheets! I am so sorry I kept those of you who wished for a continuation of this story waiting! I struggled writing this chapter more than I thought I would've, which is why it is a bit shorter than the first chapter! Again, thank you to my Alpha, the Lovely KickyNikky and my beta MamaPotterhead2492... you guys, as always, are utter perfection. Enjoy!!!

 

 

 

Ron Weasley was a simple man. He loved his family and friends. He desired to be an Auror, though he’d initially lacked the aptitude. The War was swift in making him regret his rather apathetic attitude in his Hogwarts years. It did, however, give him certain characteristics he’d not had previously. Keen senses and good dexterity, along with a desire to never be caught without his wits about him, had made him obsessive. 

Every bad thing that had ever happened replayed in his brain over and over. 

Harry returning from the third task with Cedric Diggory’s body. 

His father being attacked by that bloody great snake.

Harry being tortured by Umbridge. 

Hermione taking a near-fatal curse in the Department of Mysteries. 

Sirius fading behind the veil. 

George, bloody and losing consciousness, missing an ear. 

The pain on Harry and Hermione’s faces as he left them in the cold and barren wood. 

Hermione’s screams as she was cut and carved into. 

Hagrid, tearfully carrying Harry’s lifeless body. 

And he was useless to them, unable to fix what had happened but refusing to be caught so unaware and helpless again. 

The guilt threatened to swallow him whole, but he pushed himself hard, and Ron Weasley had eventually become one of the top students in his class at the Auror Academy. 

He’d never forget the ecstatic look on Hermione’s face when he and Harry had graduated, with honors, a few months later. With the demand for Aurors so high, a three year program had been condensed into six months of physical training, studying, and dueling. He’d even received special awards for Tactical and Strategic Planning. 

A feeling had settled into his stomach… making him victorious and yet also making him feel appreciated and humbled. 

Pride. He was feeling pride for the first time. 

Life had gotten better during that year and the year following. He’d helped rebuild Hogwarts, making it habitable again for its war-hardened students. They had mourned their losses and learned to live again. 

Ron had asked Hermione to marry him on a cool spring morning. She’d made them an English breakfast, the sleep not quite faded from her expressive brown eyes, and he was so overcome with affection for the witch that he’d just asked without thinking. 

Hermione had looked at him from across the table, sleep rapidly fading, her slowly widening eyes shocked, as his question registered. 

“What?” 

He felt his ears burn. 

“Yea, uh, should’ve planned that out better, I reckon,” he shrugged awkwardly, a laugh bubbling through his lips. 

“You think?” 

He looked at her knowing grin and knew it would be okay somehow. 

“I think my emotional range has surpassed teaspoon, yeah? It's at least a tablespoon now, wouldn’t you agree?” 

And as the newly engaged couple laughed and spent the day together, they’d both resolutely ignored the slight sinking feeling they’d felt. 

 

 

* * *

 

The engagement party was going strong. Most of their friends from the Order, Hogwarts and a select few Aurors were present to celebrate the most joyous of occasions. His brothers had taken the mickey out of him multiple times in the last hour alone, but Ron was way past the days where it would embarrass him. He’d merely snort at them, maybe accompanied with a rude hand gesture when his mother wasn’t looking. 

He turned back to Harry, whose green eyes were lit with mirth. 

“Are you sure you know what you signed up for?” Ron asked his brother-in-law. 

“It’s too late now,” Harry gestured towards his very pregnant wife. “She’d have my bollocks for even suggesting it.” 

Ron laughed, “Too right, she would. Have you picked a name yet?” 

“If it’s a girl, Lily Luna. If it’s a boy, James Sirius.” 

“Really, Harry?” Ron said, thinking of how vexed his sister was at Harry for not consulting her about the names of their future children, “You should let Ginny pick one of the names, at least the girl’s.”

Harry snorted incredulously, “She named your owl Pigwidgeon, she forfeits all rights to naming our child.”

“I pity the poor kid,” Ron said deadpan, though his eyes were sparkling. “The Potter mischievousness with the Weasley temper, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. Your kids are going to send McGonagall into retirement.” Ron eyed the witch in question, and she turned towards them as though she knew of whom they were speaking. 

Ron and Harry wilted immediately, ashamed that she still had that effect on them. McGonagall merely arched an eyebrow and turned back to her conversation with Oliver Wood, who was looking to take over the position of Flying Instructor since Madam Hooch was set to retire the following year. 

Harry let out a heartfelt laugh before glancing over at Ginny, his face filled with complete adoration for the witch, “Too right, mate.”

It was disgusting really, Ron thought. 

He and Hermione had never been ones to outwardly display affection for one another. They were more likely to bicker, though these days there was hardly any fighting between them. 

Ron was… comfortable where he was at, with Hermione. He would always love her, really. She’d put up with his shite way longer than he deserved. She had helped him study into the wee hours of the night during his rookie days. When the days were tough and sleep evaded him, she always knew. He would wake in the night and sure enough, she would find him and sit vigil with him whilst he processed whatever thing caused him trouble. 

She nagged him, a lot. But it was less irritating now -- he understood it was because she cared. 

He glanced across the room at his fiancée. She was swirling her wine glass, seemingly deep in thought if the slight crease between her brows was any indication. Ginny prattled on next to her, oblivious to her friends inattentiveness. 

“You alright, mate?” Harry’s voice pulled him back to their conversation. 

“Oh, Harry! Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts,” he shrugged, and Harry smiled slightly. 

“Nervous about tomorrow?” 

“Maybe a bit, yeah,” Ron replied shyly. 

Harry clapped him on the back, “You’re marrying your soulmate! The smartest woman I’ve ever known! I’d be quite intimidated, myself!” 

Ron’s insides tightened, “Soulmate…. right.” 

Harry frowned, turning to look at his first friend fully. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Sometimes Ron absolutely hated how perceptive Harry could be. 

“Nothing, I just… well…. I dunno Harry, I’m not good with feelings. Are we making the right decision?” his voice was low, so low Harry had to lean in to hear him. 

Harry looked at him, bewildered, “You’re nervous. It’s natural. You’ll be fine! Honestly, Hermione is the best woman you’ll have to hope for! She’s smart, kind, beautiful… you could do a lot worse, mate.”

Ron rolled his eyes, glancing down the table where Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were conversing. He had an indulging smile on his face as Luna waved her arms in a manic flapping motion, no doubt mimicking some creature she was on about. 

Ron felt his gut clench. 

“You’re right,” he said, letting out a deep breath and swallowing his anxiety. “Hermione is my best friend, my home. People wish they were lucky enough to marry their best friend.” 

“Granger is a bright one,” Fred interrupted. 

“Far superior in intellect than you, little brother,” George continued, “We often wondered if you’d been feeding her a love potion all these years.” 

Ron snorted, “Yes, because Hermione would be fooled into taking something as simple-minded as a love potion.” 

Fred grinned, “Yeah, I’d wager you right on that one. But man, Ronnikins, she grew up to be a looker.” 

George chimed in, “Right brother o’mine, I’d imagine she’s quite feisty in the sack-“ 

But whatever the rest of his sentence would have been was abruptly cut off as both George and Fred’s mouths were literally snapped shut. Their eyes widened as they looked at the other, both making twin movements of trying to pry their jaws open.

“Colovaria,” Harry said, before slipping his wand back into his pocket, and their skin suddenly turned neon pink, causing those nearest to burst into laughter. 

“Don’t ever talk about Hermione like that again,” Harry said with a grin, though his eyes were serious. 

George wordlessly counteracted both charms and raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

It was in moments like these, that people were reminded of exactly who had defeated Voldemort.

“Sorry, Harry, mate,” he said sheepishly, “Of course I meant no disrespect. Hermione’s our family, too.” 

Fred nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“Sometimes people need reminding,” was all Harry said, and the four immediately went back into conversation, this time discussing quidditch. Ron was adamant that this year, the cup belonged to the Canons. 

“Anyone want another brew?” Hermione had asked then, and both Harry and himself raised their glasses in the affirmative. 

Ron noticed Sirius get up and make his way to the kitchen after her, ever the eager helper, at least where Hermione was concerned. 

Ron often thought Sirius was besotted with the witch. He wasn’t oblivious to the longing looks Sirius sent her when he thought no one was looking. It was an intense gaze, filled with desperation, and passion, more so than Ron felt he himself was capable of. It was in the little deeds he did for her, this moment being a prime example. He was helping Hermione carry drinks rather than levitate them all at once. Hermione being muggleborn, he could see forgetting simple things and doing what she was raised to do - that made sense. But Sirius, born and bred from the most aristocratic of pureblood families, was carrying drinks behind her. Sirius would have instinctively used magic if not for paying attention to Hermione. 

So no, Ron was most certainly not oblivious. He’d even heard Sirius cry out her name in his sleep once or twice. But Ron never said anything. He would feel like a right hypocrite, ousting someone else's secrets when Ron himself was harboring one. 

His mother and father gave a very lovely toast, which reminded Ron of how lucky he was to have Arthur and Molly Weasley as his parents. He used to be ashamed of how poor they were, but in hindsight, with some years to him, Ron was never more proud of the people who fought two wars and never gave in, and who always did what was right, rather than what was easy. 

He glanced at his bride-to-be, mouthing a quick I love you to her, because he knew she abhorred being the center of attention, and felt himself awash with contentment when she smiled at him, her anxiety lessening visibly. 

His home. 

His best friend. 

“As the host of this shindig,” Ron was brought out of his thoughts as Sirius’s voice permeated his mind, “it is only proper that I be the next one to make a toast.”

Despite his earlier musings, Ron had always been fond of Sirius, and had a great relationship with the man. They’d spent many days together, discussing quidditch, chess, Sirius’s rookie Auror days and the like. They really had a nice friendship. Ron himself considered the man family -- which, knowing the way pureblood families criss-crossed, they probably were. 

“To Ron and Hermione,” Sirius said. “May your lives be filled with love, joy, kindness and kinship. I wish you two the utmost serenity, and may all of your arguments end in hot sex when that serenity is disturbed.” He laughed when Remus hit him, and Ron watched as the crowd laughed at Hermione, who was glaring at Sirius, her face beet red. Ron himself was wondering if he and Hermione had ever had hot sex. 

“Seriously,” He began once everyone had calmed down. “I hope you both have more happy times than sad. I hope that your world brightens a little more each day, and may you never,” Ron was pretty sure no one else noticed the way he was staring at her, “go wanting. To Ron and Hermione.”

Ron politely chugged most of his glass, pondering Sirius’s speech and, not for the first time, thinking that wants were a rather troublesome feeling. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ron would never admit it out loud, but he was relieved when the party ended. He received many claps on the back, well wishes, and good lucks from the inebriated party goers. 

As Hermione walked Ron to the door, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her wild mane was more tame these days under the weight of her waist length curls. She had a strong jaw, slightly tensed, but altogether beautiful. She still retained some of the tan she’d obtained during their summer holiday in Spain, and the smattering of freckles across her nose was endearing to him, as though their joint pigmentation meant he was doing the right thing, however barmy that seemed. 

“You know I love you, right?” he asked quietly, his eyes troubled. 

Somewhat baffled by his sombre tone, she nodded. “As I, you.”

He smiled and gave her a chaste kiss, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?

Hermione laughed, “I’ll be the one in white.”

Ron laughed aloud at her, “That was almost convincing. You’re going to be miserable tomorrow morning, ‘Mione. I will try to keep Ginny away from you at least until daylight, but I make no promises.”

Hermione groaned.

Ron, still snickering said, “We can still elope. You know I hate suits.”

“Your mother and Ginny would murder us. We’ll just have to suffer together. I love you, Ron.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

He gave her one last fleeting smile before he disapparated. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

He shouldn’t have ended up on the steps of this house. He should’ve gone straight home to his parent’s house. But, Ron found that though his impulsive nature had been curbed a bit with maturity, it was still there under the surface. 

He sighed, and knocked on the oak door to the east wing of the ridiculously large manor. 

Neville’s eyes were red-rimmed when he opened the door. 

Ron let out a strained breath. “I’m sorry,” he said helplessly. 

Neville nodded and stepped aside to allow him entry. Ron followed him upstairs to his wing of Longbottom Manor, somewhere far away from the disapproving gaze of his grandmother. 

In the living room suite, Neville handled two bottles of beer before sliding one to Ron, who immediately took a large gulp. Muggles sure do alcohol right, he thought. 

“Why are you here, Ron?” Neville's voice was weary, devoid of the happy timbre Ron had grown so used to hearing. 

“I had to make sure you were okay.” 

Neville snorted derisively, “I think we both know that’s a shite excuse. But I’ll be okay. We knew this day was coming, but that doesn’t mean I hate it any less. Loving you hurts,” he confessed, and Ron felt his eyes burn. 

“Tell me I’m doing the right thing, Nev,” he begged, “How do I do this? I either leave you, or betray Hermione. I swore to protect her, Neville, she’s always been mine to protect. How can I hurt her?” 

Both of them, the need to touch each other overwhelming, met each others eyes and saw the intimate longing of two damned souls. 

Neville chugged his drink, immediately changing it out for a fresh beer. 

“You don’t,” he replied, “you hurt me. Hermione is my family, too, Ron. We’ve buggered this all to hell, that much is for certain. How did we let this happen?” 

Ron thought back to the moment he knew he was in trouble.

_“Do you ever feel like you have something to hide?” Neville had asked as he tossed sheetrock into a barrel. Hogwarts was beginning to look normal again, but it didn’t feel the same. Too much death had happened for him to ever really feel at home here again. Neville had expressed the same sadness, and the two had worked especially well together, to try and give future students the feeling they used to get upon seeing Hogwarts for the first time._

_Ron told himself that he didn’t notice the shapely arse his partner had, nor the glances they’d shared, filled with silent promises and heat._

_They locked eyes, and his gaze was intense. Ron thought he might know what that gaze held, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to find out._

_“All of the time,” was his reply._

“Rebuilding happened. I’m sorry for everything, Nev.” 

Ron sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back into the couch he was sitting on, and Neville sat next to him, placing his hand lightly upon Ron’s knee. 

“We knew this couldn’t last for ever,” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t plan on feeling this much for you.” 

Neville nodded, taking Ron’s hand in his own. Ron marvelled at their strength together.

“I know,” Neville said, kissing his fingertips. 

Despite the idea that what they had done was blasphemous, it felt completely natural when their lips met. Desperate, wet, and needy. Ron allowed his hands to cup Neville’s cheek, revelling in the day old stubble the other man was sporting. 

He felt like the moments leading up to a storm, right before it rains. All lightning and clashing of hot and cold air, before peaking to make a thunderous sound. Neville’s hands were the whipping of the wind back and forth, everywhere and nowhere all at once. His lips were demanding and hot despite his tear stained cheeks cooling the flaming of Ron’s skin. 

He had never felt this with Lavender or Hermione. This need to be closer and it still not being enough. Ron ultimately was torn between loving Neville so much for this discovery and blaming him for ruining everything. 

Ruining his love for a witch he should have continued loving for the rest of his life. 

Ruining everything he thought he knew, and then ruining it again when he thought he finally figured it out. 

Ruining the idea that they could be right together, by telling him it was wrong. 

Ruining him. 

But Neville ruined him, tore him apart and then put him back together again every time his hands ran over Ron’s skin, molding him and shaping him into a person he no longer recognized, but wanted to be all the same.

This was not a new revelation, though, and Ron knew he was quite literally fucked. He was damned either way, so he figured just this last time, he could pretend to be happy.

Neville was making quick work of his trousers, roughly pulling them down his legs and, with a fluidity his younger self would have envied, was on his knees. 

As soon as Neville’s lips wrapped around him, Ron was lost. The eager slurping sounds and hums of contentment coming from his lover’s mouth were enough to make Ron forget that he shouldn’t be here, that he was a horrible person. Everything he was shattered as Neville worked him into an animalistic frenzy. 

He pulled his lover up roughly, jerking him around and bending him over the sofa. Casting a wandless lubricating charm, Ron readied himself at Neville’s entrance, sliding inside inch by torturous inch. 

He paused for a moment, not wanting to hurt his love, and he could admit it, if only to himself. He was in love with the man in front of him. Slowly stroking his lover into a quivering mess, he thought that this was perfection, and he would lose it forever tomorrow. 

That thought drove Ron into a dangerous line of insanity. 

“Harder, Ron,” Neville’s voice was rough. 

“As you wish,” he panted, and slammed back into him roughly. 

Their lovemaking was quick, dirty and to the point. The impending goodbye between them fueled their lust to heights it hadn’t previously reached. 

Neville was muttering lovely words about how he would remember this, remember them, him. In those final moments Ron came apart, spilling into his love even has he felt his eyes tear up again. 

Easing out of the spent body below him, Ron collapsed on the couch, pulling Neville against his chest. They sat there for a while, not speaking, and Ron got up and redressed himself, not able to look Neville in the eye yet. Not knowing if he ever would. 

As he made his way to the door, Ron turned back to look at him one last time, and their faces mirrored one another. Devastated. 

“I wish it was you,” Ron said softly, closing the door behind him and pretending he didn’t hear Neville’s broken sobs behind him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

His brothers were driving him spare. They cheered and jested in the groom’s suite, passing around shots of firewhiskey in celebration of this momentous occasion. Ron was sprawled across the chaise, smiling softly at the lot of them. 

“Are you going to sit there moping about? Or are you going to toast with your brothers?” Bill Weasley’s amber stare and scarred face stared down at him with understated concern. 

“I dunno,” he said, “I guess I’m just not up for getting pissed on my wedding day.”

Bill sat down beside him, patting his back in a brotherly motion, “I would think you’d just be a bit happier, brother.”

“I am,” Ron replied defensively. 

“I’m just saying -” Bill raised his hands in silent surrender, “I get the sense that you were wishing to be anywhere but here.”

Bill eyed him knowingly, and Ron swallowed. 

“I love Hermione.”

Bill raised his eyebrows, “I never said you didn’t. Were we talking about her? Do we need to be?”

Ron sighed, “No. I just thought I would feel different,” he admitted quietly, though he knew Bill’s enhanced hearing would pick it up. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bill’s eyes were filled with concern, and Ron looked away, ashamed. He didn’t deserve it. 

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on Fleur that she was it for me,” Bill continued. “She walked into the room, commanding presence with this otherworldly glow about her, and I was gone. When I got these scars, the animal in me knew, she was mine. Have you ever felt that?”

Ron couldn’t speak. 

“I need to talk to Hermione,” was all he said before jumping up and striding swiftly from the suite, his family calling after him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

His conversation with Hermione left him reeling, but also feeling as though his guilt had subsided a bit. He knew his heart would eventually heal, and Hermione had always been the balm to his open wounds. She would be there for him, and accept him for who he was, and that was what mattered now. 

They could do this. 

They could still find some semblance of happiness in the proverbial shit-storm they’d both created, but at what cost? 

Four hearts would be broken today, and Ron didn’t know how he would deal with that. But he would try, for Hermione. He would keep her, and himself safe. 

Standing at the front of the aisle, Ron took a moment to observe everyone in the room. His parents, at the very front, were beaming with happiness. His brothers, proud next to them. Harry standing next to him, was always the calm in the storm and Ron was grounded in his presence. 

“You ready?” Harry whispered to him. 

Ron nodded, “I can do this,” he said, trying to convince himself. 

“You know,” Harry began slowly, casually, “you’re my brother. Always, you know that right?”

“Are you getting sentimental on me, mate?” Ron cajoled, bumping into Harry’s shoulder. 

“No, prick,” Harry laughed, “I’m just saying I would accept you for however, whoever, you are.”

Ron looked at his best mate then, and Harry’s knowing green eyes were boring into him so forcefully that Ron felt exposed, and he realized then that Harry, once again, proved to be more perceptive than people gave him credit for. 

“I’m fine, mate. I will treat her right,” Ron promised solemnly. 

“I just want you both to be happy,” Harry said simply, patting his best friend’s shoulder softly before turning back to face the audience, ruffling his hair in that tell-tale sign of embarrassment. 

Some things never change, Ron mused, and the band began playing the Muggle wedding song Hermione had insisted she walk down the aisle to. 

Ginny was beautiful, as usual, her fiery red hair cascading down her back, held back from her face, which was smiling serenely. Her dress was a beautiful light gold that shimmered each time she moved. Ron was proud of his sister, and so happy that Hermione had chosen Ginny as her Matron of Honor. 

Harry was glowing disgustingly next to him. 

Hermione appeared behind her and Ron smiled at his best friend, looking regal and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Though Ron had seen her not twenty minutes ago, the effect was still the same, and he beamed at her, thinking that though their lives were shit, at least they would get through it together. 

Once standing next to Ron, Hermione took his hand in a vice-like grip, which was the only outward source of her tension. 

Ron felt like a coward. She should not have to do this. But Ron held her hand just as tightly to silently convey to her that it would work out somehow, that they would be okay, so long as they were together. 

Ron could see them in ten years, maybe not in love but happy, surrounded by their families as they watched children running about the yard. He could see Neville there with Hannah Abbott, and they his eyes would meet Ron’s from across the lawn and they would share a secret, wistful smile, regarding each other with old desire that never quite went away, but was still present even after the years have past. 

And though that broke his heart now, he knew that whenever he thought about his love, he would remember him as he was now. Beautiful, young, and memorialized with tender touches and whispered words of devotion in those dimly lit corridors and stray nights in the east wing of a Manor he never thought he’d belong to. 

He focused on what the ancient wizard in front of him was saying. “A successful marriage requires two people giving and receiving love the way the other needs.” 

Maybe he and Hermione could uphold their vows. He could love her to the best of his ability, and she would do so in kind. It wouldn’t be the all encompassing, passionate love they’d wanted, but it would be companionable, and filled with love and laughter. 

“And should anyone have reason as to why these two should not wed,” another vice-like grip from Hermione, “speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

A collective gasp snatched Ron’s attention, and he turned around rapidly. Amongst the guests, Sirius stood tall at the back of the pews, a look of shock on his face, as though he’d begun to realize the impact of the decision he’d just made. 

Well, bugger.


	3. Of Anger and Absolution -Or- Of Weasleys, Potters, and Blacks

**A/N: HELLO THERE! It's been a while. But here we are, chapter three, with just over 7k words. I tried to make it to 8k, but words simply failed me. I do hope you all enjoy this! A special thanks to Britt, Nikky, Ariel and Kiri, whom alpha,beta and brainstorm with me until my thoughts are bleeding with ideas. Also, review and I'll give you a snippet of the next chapter??? Yes, I'm whoring for reviews. Get to reading! Till next time, lovelies - Haley**

* * *

  
  
_I loved her against all reason_   
_against promise,_   
_against peace,_   
_against hope,_   
_against happiness,_   
_against all discouragement_   
_that could be._   
_ -Charles Dickens _   


  


* * *

There was a deafening silence. 

A silence so weighted that it was suffocating. There was a pressure in her chest now, and her lungs couldn’t quite expand to give her the air she needed. She could register Ron squeezing her hand. Why? She didn’t know. All she could do was stare at the man that suddenly found himself the sole focus of the wedding. 

Hermione was a planner, as calculating as a Slytherin, though it was her outstanding bravery that defined her as a Gryffindor. She had planned everything down to the last second of the rest of her life. One misstep, one miscalculation, one man, and those plans were turned arse over broomstick.

Hermione believed that there were only a few defining moments in her life that had irrevocably altered the course of her own existence. Finding out she was a witch had been one. The day she had decided to fight alongside Harry Potter, even more so - because that had been a choice. Everything in between, she believed, had been happenstance of those events, and had inevitably led her to this one, defining moment. A choice that she’d never expected but had secretly hoped for any way, a flicker of hope that she could somehow have her heart's desire and not destroy everything. 

Hope, however, was a frivolous, dangerous thing that proved even more incapacitating than fear and more deadly when utilized for the sole purpose of destroying it. Hermione was quite a bit more cynical than she'd been when she was younger. Life was not always sunshine. It was littered with the growth that came with death, heartbreak, and pain. Hope was a notion that simply gave no facts or truth, when Hermione needed both. She tried not to let it in, tried not to let it choke her up. But the pesky emotion wriggled itself into her chest and spread throughout her bones, soothing away the ache that his absence would have left her. 

The silence only lasted a moment, as every person quickly got over the shock of his actions. 

_“HOW DARE YOU?”_

Molly Weasley, of course, immediately flew into a blind rage. Arthur quickly restrained his volatile wife. 

Bill, Charlie, and Percy had risen as well. Bill looked towards Remus, who was slowly making his way through the suddenly angry crowd. The werewolf's eyes were a distinctly golden hue, sensing the danger to his packmate and putting it at the forefront of his concerns. 

Fred and George were more reserved than their older brothers, though they too looked conflicted between concern and fury. 

A few rows back, Neville Longbottom was eyeing the situation with a look of dreadful, _hopeful_ , realization on his face, and Hermione felt sympathy for the man, for she was torn between similar feelings. Luna next to him caught Hermione's eye, a thoughtful expression on her face as she glanced between her and Sirius, and Hermione wondered about Luna’s propensity for knowing things she shouldn’t. Her expression held no anger, only a rare moment of clarity from her normally dazed eyes. She gave Hermione a quick nod of acceptance and returned her focus to Neville, whispering in his ear. 

Guests were yelling amongst each other, rising from their seats to observe the ensuing drama with expressions of intrigue, confusion and anger. 

Hermione quickly took note of the few faces who didn’t react in quite the way she was expecting. 

Ginny Potter was reserved, a look of knowing on her face as she and Harry conversed quietly before standing up and making their way over to the couple standing at the front of the lawn. 

Harry himself showed no surprise nor animosity. Just a vaguely concerned expression, and Hermione was reminded that Harry too, was more perceptive than most people ever gave him credit for. 

Hermione immediately looked towards Ron, whom she’d almost completely forgotten about in the midst of getting over her own shock. 

“What do we do?” She fretted, looking at him with wide eyes. 

Ron, bless him, pulled her into a hug, reaching around the wispy wizard, who was hastily making his way towards the horde of Weasleys, trying desperately to calm the Matriarch, whose face was turning the same shade as her hair. 

“Well,” Ron chortled as Harry and Ginny came to a stop in front of them. “I guess the cat is out of the proverbial bag now.”

Hermione hit him. 

“How can you be this calm!?” She shrieked. “Sirius Black is an arrogant ass of epic proportions, and he just single-handedly ruined our wedding, and incited an angry mob!”

Harry spoke then, and Hermione gazed forlornly at her friend, praying his rather infamous temper was not about to be unleashed on her. 

“Hermione, why did my godfather stand in protest at your wedding?”

Hermione glanced towards Sirius, who was actively engaged in a heated argument with the older Weasleys, Remus at his side, though from the color of Tonks’ hair, it was not going well. 

“Harry,” she sighed, “I don’t… I just -- I’m sorry.”

Ron spoke then, “Hermione slept with him last night.”

_“Ron!”_

“What?” He glared as she slapped his arm, “It’s not like he wasn’t going to find out now, anyway. Your boyfriend kind of blew this whole thing to shit.”

Hermione screeched. “He is _not_ my boyfriend. He will be lucky if I ever speak to him again.”

Harry cleared his throat, causing the couple to turn their focus on him once again. 

“So,” Harry began conversationally, “Hermione sleeps with my godfather, they’re in love, Ron is pining away after Longbottom, and you decide to get married anyway? Are you two daft?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione gasped, and Ron paled significantly, a look of fear on his face. 

Harry shrugged. “I had my own suspicions for a while, but my wife is way more curious than I am. It’s obvious if you’re looking closely enough and, well, Ginny likes to look at a lot of things.”

Ginny grinned, speaking for the first time, clearly enjoying the ruckus that was going on. “I’ve known for a while. I saw Ron and Neville together at the New Year’s party last year, and Sirius pants after you like a dog, Hermione. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. I’m shocked no one else has noticed.”

Ron turned on her then, “And you didn’t think to say anything to your best friend or your brother? Do you have any idea the torture we’ve been putting ourselves through?”

Ginny stared at him, “I would never belittle the experiences you two have gone through. But Harry and I decided that our interference would only cause you two more trouble. You have to figure these things out on your own, and I can understand why you two chose to do this. Ron, you know that you’re going to be on the shit end of a quill when the press gets ahold of the two of you, don’t you?” 

Already Hermione could see the headlines of their now disastrous wedding, and with their infidelities and Ron’s sexual orientation on top of it all? Hermione needed to speak to a few of her connections at the Daily Prophet to see if she could stave off the worst of the reporters. 

“This is a disaster.” She turned to Harry desperately. “What do I do?” she asked, her voice shaking. 

“It’s obvious you two don’t want to marry each other,” Harry said, pausing to ensure the two had no argument, “so, we deal with this mess and then hopefully --” he smiled a crooked smile at her, “-- you two can be with who you love.”

Ron sighed, “If mum doesn’t kill him first.” He gestured to where Molly Weasley did indeed have her wand trained on Sirius, whose cold expression was slightly terrifying. 

Truthfully, they had not paid much attention to anyone outside the four of them, but now that their attention was diverted to the crowd, they quickly realized that a fight was going to break out unless someone intervened.

Molly was shouting at Sirius, her voice carrying easily over the crowd. 

“Molly,” Remus said calmly, his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, “I think we all need to take a step back and think rationally before we start throwing slurs at each other. We are family after all, aren’t we?”

“We’re definitely supposed to be,” Tonks snarled, her hair a vivid red. “Molly, you need to lower your wand. I’m still an auror, and I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

The red-headed witch scoffed disdainfully. 

“Did you ever think that maybe there is a reason to all of this?” Sirius asked exasperatedly, his body tense with annoyance. 

“I thought you were different from your family!” Molly yelled, her hands gesticulating around her husband, who was trying in vain to keep her in his grasp. From the look on his face, he knew that a line had been crossed. 

“And you, Remus!” she continued, “You knew this was going to happen! I refuse to believe you had no part in this! I always knew you two were the bloody same.” 

Tonks and Sirius both snarled and made to move forward, but Remus waved them off. 

“Molly, have I ever given you a reason to believe that I am a man without honor? Any reason not to trust me? This is not about you or I, and you would do well to remember to whom you are speaking, and that some things you cannot come back from. Words, once said, cannot be taken back, no matter the spirit in which they were said or meant.” 

Molly’s face faltered slightly, seeming to come back to herself as she glanced around at the gathered crowd, most of them family, some of them not. 

“I thought she’d never shut up,” Sirius muttered quietly. 

Not quietly enough, unfortunately. 

“You have ruined this wedding, Sirius Black!” she shrieked, “And I will _not_ allow you to continue to be in my family’s presence!”

“You can try,” he growled, drawing his own wand. 

_“Protego!”_

A giant shield erupted between the witch and wizard, causing both of them to stumble back from its force. They both righted themselves and turned, looking down the end of the vinewood wand, up the lace sleeve and into the angry stare of Hermione Granger. 

“Enough.”

She glanced towards the rest of the guests. 

“Thank you, everyone,” she began calmly, which caused the hairs on many arms to stand on end, though they’d never admit it. “This wedding is over. Guests, please make your way out. Family members,” she glared at the Weasleys, “friends,” she glanced at Neville and Luna, “please head to Grimmauld Place.”

Voices began to protest, but she cut them off quickly. 

“I am not asking,” she stated in a hard voice. “I will not tolerate anymore arguing, insults or hexes being thrown. Anyone who thinks to do so will be staring down the end of my wand.”

She took a deep breath and turned to Ron, who through everything, was looking at her with those ever expressive cerulean blues, love for her evident as she took his hand. 

“Shall we?”

  


* * *

  
  
  
Now that he’d gone and completely fucked everything up, Sirius felt a multitude of emotions; guilt, exhilaration, anticipation. But the more pressing emotion was dread. Hermione was furious, and rightly so. As he sat at the end of the table in Grimmauld place, awaiting her judicion, he admired her body. 

Gone was the wedding dress, Hermione having exchanged it for a pair of muggle jeans that cupped her arse, and a plain black tank top that only teased at the curves he’d feasted on not twenty-four hours prior. 

He felt a sharp jab in his ribcage. 

“Fuck!” He snarled, turning to glare at Remus, “What the fuck, Moony?” 

“Control yourself,” the werewolf growled back, “I won’t be saving your arse from a good hexing a second time, Padfoot.” 

Having heightened senses was a burden for both of them, it seemed. 

Hermione cleared her throat then, and she and Ron stood at the other end of the table. 

“Thank you everyone,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice, “I know everyone has questions, and we will explain what we can, but understand that our private lives are just that. Private. And your opinions, while respected, are not relevant to our private lives. So please, just listen.” She glanced over at Molly, who huffed and crossed her arms indignantly. 

“Ron and I…” she started, and felt more confident as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We are not in love with each other. I do not know if we ever were.” 

Everyone gasped collectively, mouths open and eyes wide. 

“But you two have been together for years,” Draco Malfoy started with a slight sneer, clearly irritated that he wasn’t observant of this fact. 

“Yes, ferret,” Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione and I are completely aware of that.”

The Malfoys had been an interesting and _surprising_ addition to their motley crew. With Lucius in Azkaban for the next decade, Draco and Narcissa had to rebuild their lives to fit into the new world, and though some had sniffed at the thought that _Malfoys_ could change their prejudices, Sirius believed they were sincere. If for nothing else, the Malfoys knew which political alliances were smart to align with after the fall of Voldemort. 

Ron and Draco still hated each other. That, at least, hadn’t changed. 

“We’re getting distracted here,” Ginny said, glaring at the two men disdainfully, and they both wilted slightly. 

“If you weren’t in love with each other, dear,” Molly sniffed, “why did you stay together? Make us believe it?”

“We weren’t ready to face life without each other yet,” Hermione stated, and Ron nodded along. “I didn’t want to lose my family.”

Ron nudged her, “that wouldn’t have happened, ‘Mione.”

“You are a part of this family, Hermione,” Arthur agreed, “that will not change just because you and my son no longer wish to be a couple.”

“So,” Molly interjected, glancing at Sirius and seemingly forcing more politeness into her tone than she actually felt he deserved, “that doesn’t explain the… distraction - that occurred at your binding ceremony.”

Eyes fell on Sirius, and it was one of those rare times that Sirius was glad he had been born a Black. He did well under scrutiny. He did not bow, buckle or bend. He was able to conceal his thoughts and feelings if he chose to, which he rarely did, but found he was growing increasingly fonder of his families more Slytherin tendencies. Shame they’d all been insane, murderous bastards. 

He shrugged casually, “I knew they were wrong for each other. I love them, and I didn’t want them to suffer for it,” he finished vaguely. 

Molly seemed to scrutinize him further, “yes but why did you wait until the last minute? Why didn’t you say something sooner? Unless -”

“Molly, my reasons are my own, and I do not owe you any further explanation. I’m sorry that this has upset you and your family, as I hold the lot of you in very high regard, but I will not be interrogated like a criminal, no less in my own house.”

Molly had the decency to look slightly shameful, but he pushed on, not looking at Hermione. 

“I want you all to understand that I am not obligated to tell you anything. This is merely a courtesy, and the only people who deserve my full disclosure are Ron and Hermione. They too, do not have to give you the rundown of why they don’t want to be together. Please remember that,” Sirius tried his best to keep his tone neutral, but damn if his nerves weren’t already fried. 

“Sirius is right,” Ron said firmly, briefly meeting the other mans’ eyes and giving an imperceptible nod in his direction. “Hermione and I are remaining friends, we have some things to work out, private things, but we are still closer than ever, and I want everyone here to treat her no differently - Or Sirius -” he added quickly, “he did what he thought was right.”

Sirius was not necessarily inclined to agree, but for some reason the youngest son was on his side, so he kept quiet. 

He glanced at Hermione, whos eye he’d been attempting to catch throughout the meeting, but she was ignoring him, determinedly from the looks of it. Sirius knew he was in the dog house. 

“It just seems so senseless to stay in a loveless marriage,” Charlie spoke indignantly, “why would you even consider doing it?”

A number of faces said they agreed with him. 

Ron sighed, “during the war,” he started, and Harry looked vaguely aware of where his best mate was going with this, “most of you don’t know, but I left once.” 

Ron did not hang his head, but merely gazed on with acceptance as the guests looked around at each other with surprise. He had long ago decided he would not cower from scrutiny.

“I was hungry, cold, and scared and angry, and I left them,” he gestured to Harry and Hermione, whos’ gazes were filled with compassion. “They will make excuses for me,” he chuckled mirthlessly, “because Harry and Hermione are my best friends, but the ugly truth was that I had not realized what being on the run with Harry Potter actually meant. I was seventeen, and I left them after Harry and I had an argument.”

Bill and Fleur knew, of course, but most of the Weasleys seemed to be trying their very best not to voice their opinions on the matter. 

“I have never regretted one single instance so much in my life,” Ron continued, and his voice had taken on this captivating quality, pulling them into this suspenseful melancholy that had Hermione tearing up as her friend laid his deepest shame onto the table for all to witness. 

“When I came back, I promised I would never leave them again,” he said simply, with a smile directed towards his best friends, and their answering smiles were soothing on his soul. 

“We forgave you a long time ago, mate,” Harry said quietly. 

“Of course we did,” Hermione agreed, pulling him into a bone breaking hold, discreetly wiping her tears as she hid in his neck for a moment. 

Ron pretended not to notice. 

“Hermione, that is why you agreed to marry him?” Fred asked.

She had expected these questions, expected the never ending assault and filling her family's’ curiosity, but Hermione was already dreadfully tired. Her head hurt, and she just wanted to nurse her troubles with a bottle of Elf Wine and pass out into nothingness. 

“There are a many number of reasons, all of them having to do with him being a good man,” she smiled lovingly in Rons direction, and his ears tinged pink. Hermione’s smile grew wider at her friends expense. Over ten years of friendship, and she could still make him blush with embarrassment at her praises. 

“He is my home,” she stated, “when I was suffering the aftermath of being tortured,-” a low growl came from Sirius’ direction, which she ignored, “- none of you were tortured for as long as I was,” she said helplessly shrugging her shoulders.

“I do not want to take away from your pain and suffering,” she added, “we all suffered so greatly during those times. But Bellatrix Lestrange took something from me that night. She chipped away little pieces of me, and I’ve never gotten them all back.”

That deafening silence was there again, and the sympathy she felt coming towards her in potent waves was enough to almost shatter her calm exterior. 

“Ron is everything that was ever safe and warm to me, and I’ve depended on that safety more than any of you could ever know. He has dried my tears, soothed me back to sleep after nightmares, brought me tea after one of my episodes from Post-Cruciatus-Syndrome. He was there for it all, boundless patience and support.”

Molly and Arthur were looking at him proudly, and he smiled tiredly at them. Harry, Ron and Hermione had not told anyone what they went through on the run, but many had figured that some horrors were best left forgotten. 

Hermione laced her fingers through his, and he brought their combined hands to his lips, chastely kissing them.

She turned towards Charlie, who was looking between them both with a fond, if not confused, smile. 

“You asked us why would we go into a loveless marriage. Is there not love between us? He bore the aftermath of the war silently, taking care of Harry and I without complaint. He never asked me for anything in return, except to marry him. You make it seem like it is so unthinkable to marry someone whom you’re not in love with. But to me?” she smiled in Rons direction again, “it was the easiest choice in the world.”

Sirius understood. He would have done anything for James and Remus -he refused to think of Peter anymore- he knew the depth of a friendship, one where you would do anything, be anything, if it meant his friends were safe and happy. 

He did not understand how he’d never noticed it before. Maybe, he was hyper focused on Hermione, but as he put Ron under his scrutiny, it was subtle, but Sirius could see the hand wrapped around the witches waist was a little too high to be intimate. She never kissed him properly, always going for the cheek or if on the lips, a quick and chaste kiss. Their eyes had locked on each other of course, Sirius himself had been witness to their nonverbal conversations, but their gazes never held heat or passion, or the promise of what they would do to each other later. His lips brushed her hairline, not in a romantic gesture, but in the way a loved one would check a childs temperature. Protective, caring, and not in the least bit sexual. 

Hermione finally looked at him then, her eyes searching his, maybe wondering what in merlin's name they were going to do now. He knew she would yell at him eventually, probably curse his eyebrows together or something equally creative, but if in the end he was able to pin her down underneath him he would bear it all, because unlike when she looked at Ron… he saw fire in those whiskey eyes. Looking at him. 

It warmed him from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair but Sirius Black knew that Hermione Granger looked at him with the same hunger he felt for for her. Theirs would not be a flame easily diminished, of that he was sure. He knew he had a lot to make up for. He’d ruined her life essentially, at least the life she had planned on having. But damned if those eyes didn’t scorch his soul. 

“Well, Hermione,” Ginny said loudly, breaking the silence that had fallen, “you don’t have to marry Ron. You are my sister. And that makes you family.” 

Fred and George started clapping, and just like that - the tension was broken. 

“Right you are, little sister -“ Fred said.

“Hermione is indeed family. Though I don’t know if I look at her as a sister, she’s got too nice of an ars-”

“GEORGE WEASLEY!” 

“Sorry mum,” the twin said, skipping away as his mother went to swatting at him, whilst the other guests roared in laughter, “I can’t help but appreciate beauty in all forms!” 

“And Granger,” Fred continue, “well, she grew up to be a looker.”

Hermione merely rolled her eyes at their antics, secretly glad that they were intuitive enough to change the subject. She knew it was intentional, when George sent her a conspiratorial wink.

They chatted for a while, and ate the food that Kreacher had prepared for the wedding. Hermione and Ron cut their cake together, Ron saying that it symbolized the abolition of their romantic relationship, but Hermione really knew that Ron just wanted cake.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sirius sat at the end of the table observing his family, the way they interacted with each other, the boundless love that was evident in even the little things. Charlie and the twins were heckling Fleur into giving them a little nephew so they can teach him how to prank their niece, who was sleeping soundly in a pram off to the side of the room. 

McGonagall was observing the twins, her mouth in its customary thin line, but if you watched closely, you could see her lips twitch with amusement. 

Molly was hugging Hermione, whispering in her ear. Judging by the tears in Hermione’s eyes, Sirius gathered that the Weasley matriarch was reassuring the younger witch of her place amongst the family. 

Ron had made his way over to sit next to Neville and Luna, their conversation stilted, not that Luna herself seemed to notice. Sirius could hear her talking animatedly about her next expedition of Snorkack hunting, and he saluted her in his head. Luna was constant. 

Sirius stood quietly and made his way out of the room, making his way to the expansive balcony that overlooked the surrounding street, invisible to muggles, of course. 

He swished the glass of brandy in his hand before taking a long needed pull from the glass. He sat down, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with the tip of his wand. 

Alcohol and nicotine were quite the pair, as he’d discovered long ago. 

He was glad their relationship was over. Of course he was, but… what now? 

How would they make anything work? He had ruined their wedding, and if he started dating the witch surely Ron and his family would hate him. 

Sirius had lost so much. So did he lose his family? Or the love of his life? An impossible choice. 

He could imagine the look on Mollys face. Not that he didn’t enjoy riling her up. But this would be a line he had crossed that she could not simply overlook, or forgive. 

The sliding of the chair next to him alerted Sirius that his solitude was broken. 

“Cousin,” Draco’s voice pierced the silence with its normal aristocratic quality. 

“Draco,” Sirius nodded, “you left your mother on her own with a bunch of Weasleys?” 

Draco snorted, “Andromeda and Dora are in there also, as well as your pet werewolf, she is not wanting for company.” 

Sirius let the werewolf comment slide, for he knew that Draco no longer said it with any malice. 

“And you are out here because?” 

“You looked like you could use some company, and all of the Gryffindorks are about as dense as goblin silver.” 

Sirius contained his mirth, but raised his glass to Dracos, taking notice of the dark liquid. 

“I didn’t take you for a muggle whiskey type of guy,” Sirius raised his eyebrow. 

“Well,” Draco smirked, “Since Granger and the She-Weasel forced their friendship upon me, my eyes have been opened to the vast array of Muggle delights. Tell me, Black, have you ever seen these _bikinis_?” 

Sirius laughed aloud at that, toasting the younger man again. 

“Muggles are brilliant,” he agreed sagely. 

“So you and Granger huh?” 

Sirius whipped his head around, sloshing his whiskey in the process. Draco’s eyes, mirror images of his own, were looking at him with a calculated stare, and would have been slightly intimidating had Sirius not been born a Black. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he stiffly replied. 

Draco rolled his eyes, “speaking as someone who used to harbor a very deep infatuation for Granger, I know the signs, Black, and you are so into that girl you can’t think straight.” 

“What do you know?” Sirius asked sharply. 

“Nothing for sure, until you just asked,” Draco said smugly. Damn Slytherins. 

“Did you just admit to crushing on Hermione?” Draco noticed the testiness in his cousins voice, and smirked. 

“She punched me once back at Hogwarts, did you know?” 

“No, I bet you deserved it though.” 

Dracos grin widened, “oh, I did, and as soon as she punched me… I was hard up for the girl for years. Don’t get me wrong,” he raised his hands as Sirius growled, “I am completely devoted to Astoria,” he took another sip of his scotch, “But Granger was hot as hell when she got riled up.”

Sirius grinned, relaxing back into his seat and pulling a drag from his cigarette, “she still is.” 

“So are you going to tell her? I mean, I strongly doubt that she doesn’t already know. Granger’s never been one to miss the obvious.” 

“She knows.” 

“Well then, whatever are you doing out here? Moping about in your own self pity when there’s a fit witch for you to woo?” Dracos mocking tone was grating on his nerves. 

“I think I’ve done enough for one day, wouldn’t you agree?”

Draco shrugged, “I dunno, mate. If I didn’t already have a witch to lust for…” 

Sirius shoved him lightly, and Draco stood, giving him a two-fingered salute before re-entering the now smaller gathering. 

Sirius sighed, leaving the balcony and, bypassing the gathering that was taking place in the kitchen, headed up the stairs into the library. 

He could still smell her. 

Intoxicated, he sat on the loveseat, flicking his wand to light the fire. Amazing how something so benign had become such a potent scene in his mind. 

He knew he would sleep here unless he drug himself out of his self-imposed stupor, so he made his way to his bedroom, glad he finally had a moments peace. 

He needed a shower. 

Walking across the cherrywood floors, he haphazardly discarded his shirt, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension they held. He kicked off his shoes, one going under the bed and the other shooting into the wall with a solid _thump_ before falling ceremoniously onto the floor atop of the clothes he’d worn last night. 

His dress slacks were thrown into the growing pile, and Sirius stepped under the stream of hot water in his shower with a sigh that turned into a groan as the water beat down on his sore back. 

Though the veil had given him some of his years back, Sirius still felt his age in moments like these. Sorting through a lifetime of mistakes and heart ache, he had hoped the water could wash away some of his sins. Cleanse him, purify him, make him worthy of a young witch with a killer smile, with legs that went on for miles and a temper that was as untameable as that mane of hair that cascaded down her back and sparked with the fire that only she held. Sirius hoped he could be good enough for her. Hoped that somehow, he could have everything he ever wanted. If Ron wasn’t in love with her, maybe no one would have to suffer, and Hermione would choose to be with him. Sirius hoped she would forgive him for being so reckless with her, for being unable to contain the flames that she had poured kerosine on last night when she had kissed him. But he knew he was lost to her. He hoped that she could somehow understand. A senseless hope, it was, but hope he did. 

He could imagine her punishing him for his misdeeds. Her amber eyes would fire up in rage, and she would leave marks down his back that would sting for days. She wouldn’t let him touch her like he wanted to, but Sirius would take what he could get from her because to him, anything from her was a gift he had never anticipated receiving. She would put her mouth on him, bringing him to the precipice and make him dizzy with the vision of those supple lips taking on the length of him, only to pull back and not allow him to fall over the edge as he so desired. 

Those visions of her played over and over again in his mind as he brought himself to his release, and he hand slackened, and his body sagged as breathed heavily through his nose, trying to keep himself upright. 

He exited the shower, quickly throwing on a pair of threadbare jeans that hung loosely around his waist as he walked back into his suite with the sole desire for a quick smoke and then sleep. His cigarettes sat on the nightstand where he’d thrown them. His bed was warm and inviting and after he stepped onto his balcony for a smoke he would worry about all of his problems tomorrow. He would talk to Hermione- 

“GODDAMN YOU TO HELL, SIRIUS BLACK!”

Hermione burst through the door, hair sparking, her face flushed with anger. 

Sirius paused, not saying a word as she strode into the room, slamming the door behind her as she did. The banging of the door emphasising her fury. 

“Hermione, I can explain,” he began, his words cutting short as a stinging hex hit him straight in the chest. 

“Ow! What the fuck, Witch?” 

Wandlessly disarming her, he took the vinewood wand and tossed it behind him onto his dresser. She was furious, and he’d been looking for a fight. 

“You ruined a wedding,” she snarled, “MY wedding, and you didn’t even have the decency to say anything to me last night. So instead of resolving this privately, our entire family was witness to my embarrassment and humiliation!” 

Sirius laughed coldly, “Let’s not pretend that wedding was anything other than a farce, _chere’_ ” the words fell from his tongue smoothly, bitterly, “I saved both of you from a life of misery and dissatisfaction.”

She scoffed, “Your arrogance knows no bounds, Sirius Black. It was not _your_ place to decide to ruin the plans Ron and I had set out. You have no idea what you’ve done. For him, this was more than just an attempt from me to love him. This was for his protection. Once again! Sirius Black; reckless and running into things headfirst without thinking of the consequences!”

Sirius lost his patience. 

“I DID THINK!” he yelled at her, and her eyes widened when he strode across the room towards her. “I thought of every night for the rest of our lives, not waking up next to each other. I thought about not ever being able to touch you again. I thought about being unable to marry you, have kids with you, grow old with you. I don’t know if it would happen, but we would not even have a chance to find out! I thought about you being miserable and incomplete for the rest of your life because he would _never_ satisfy you like I do,” he raised a brow when she scoffed. 

“Don’t deny it, Hermione,” he said hotly, “you said as much last night that he has never given you an orgasm. I would give you so many you wouldn’t know which way was up.” His nostrils flared as her scent hit him, but he ignored it. She was riled and angry and beautiful as ever but he knew they needed this. Needed each other. 

“You had no right, Sirius,” Hermione snarled at him, “no right to go about it as you did.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, and I’m sorry!” He yelled back at her. “But you would have never had the balls to call it off Hermione! You’re so scared to take a risk with anyone that you would spite yourself instead of just being happy!”

“Your arrogance knows no bounds.”

“Neither does your swottiness,” Sirius raged on, angry at her for fighting him so much on this, even when she knew she was wrong. “I knew you would be unhappy, and I would be unhappy, and I won’t apologize. I regret not saying something last night, I regret the public way it happened. But I can’t say that I’m sorry for ruining your marriage, Hermione, because I’m really not.”

Her hand met his cheek with enough force to whip his head to the side. 

He growled at her, but she had already summoned her wand and hit him with another stinging charm. 

“Put the wand down, Hermione! Ow!” He moved away from her, dodging an array of spells, one for sure being a Bat-Bogey Hex, a vomit inducing curse, and he was sure she’d even thrown in a shrinking charm.

“Oi!” he yelled, running and yanking her wand from her fingertips and throwing it across the room, “Stop hexing me!”

Her chest was heaving, eyes dilated, face flushed with rage. He’d never seen her more beautiful. 

“Why should I ever stop cursing you, Sirius Black?!”

“So I can love you,” he said simply, and pushed his lips to hers in a soul-searing kiss. 

Almost immediately, her need to punish him shifted from violence to something else not entirely different and she shoved him down, climbing on top of him…her hands on his face, his wrapping themselves into her sparking mane. 

Their simultaneous groans sent sparks of electricity down Hermione’s spine, and though she was angry at him, she couldn’t help but thank Merlin, Circe, and Morgana Le Fey that he was impulsive and reckless because, have mercy on her, she wanted this every day. His hands drew patterns and constellations in her skin and gripped her hips with enough pressure to make her eyes roll. She saw solar systems and stars behind her lids, and the swivel of his hips up into hers made her stomach clench with a tight want that never seemed to dissipate when she was near him. She was the universe, but he was the Sun. 

She was angry at him for making the way he absolutely blew her life apart like a whirlwind of energy that couldn’t be contained, placing himself firmly in the center of her universe, alighting it with color and brightness and heat. 

Hopeless. 

The word resonated through her and she thought about how hopelessly lost in him she was. Every touch, every time she could coax a moan through those full lips boasted of just how perfect they were for each other, and she was so angry at him for it. 

“You could have let me be,” she growled at him, roughly pulling at his hair. “I never needed to know what this felt like, Sirius. I could have been happy with being safe.”

He wrapped his arms around her, flipping them over so she was pinned underneath him. His arousal and hers pressing together, making the air from her lungs stagnate. 

“You would have been miserable,” he grunted, pulling her shirt up and over her head, leaving her glad in just jeans, infuriatingly beautiful, and looking at him with that same blazing expression she wore for him last night, “and you told me not to stop, begged me not to stop, and by my count you were rewarded for it so I don-” 

“Shut up, Sirius,” she glared, and he stopped everything. Fire met ice as they glared at each other, both too stubborn, too desperate to be right. Neither knew how to surrender. 

She shoved him off of her, “I didn’t come here for this,” she said, and gasped as he caught her foot, stopping her from leaving the bed. 

“Yes,” he said, yanking her back to him, trapping her in his embrace, her back to his chest, ignoring her struggles, inside and out. “Yes, you did.”

His hand slid to her jeans, unbuttoning them before sinking underneath to feel the readiness of her. His fingers, nimble and strong, teased her with expert precision, bringing her to those heights she was so afraid of. 

And maybe that was is, maybe she was afraid to stand on the ledge and jump with the faith that he would catch her. Maybe there was a risk she didn’t know if she was ready to take. Maybe she would give him so much and lose herself and that, she could not do. She would do anything for him as it was, even before this disaster. This all consuming need for him terrified her, and she didn’t know if she let him take her, that she would ever be able to stop. 

“It scares me that I would give you anything,” she whispered, angrily wiping at her face, gyrating her hips in the pattern his fingers were tracing over her. 

“I know,” he said, removing his hand and pulling her jeans down her legs. 

Settling himself in between her thighs, he touched her face tenderly, letting his anger slip away just for a moment, to show her that he would never leave. “I know you’d do anything for me,” he said, absolute adoration gracing his features.

“But I would do _everything_ for you. Please let me.”

Passion. Hunger. Devastatingly beautiful. 

Hermione felt herself surrender. 

“Okay,” she said, and he sank into her. 

A galaxy of emotions erupted between them, their magic sliding against one another teasingly, melding together fluidly each time he thrusted in and out of her. 

Later on she would worry about this phenomenon because surely, it was not normal. But in this moment, time stood still for them, and the tension of the days events came to a peak, forcing its way into their every action. 

They took each other roughly, uncompromising and unyielding. Scratches littered their backs, bruises on their lips, Lips swollen and bruised. 

They were so wrapped up in each other that Sirius couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. He pounded his love into the witch, hoping that she understood, because he was oh so broken, and he could never be good enough for her, but he would try. That was the only promise he could make to her, because as surely as he knew his own name, he would inevitably fuck it up somehow. 

“Sirius, please,” she begged, the coil in her stomach ready to spring at any moment, and he quickened his pace, giving her everything, giving her everything he had. 

When they came it was together, as romantic as someone like Sirius Black could get. He thought about all the witches he’d bedded in the past, and no one could compare. The only thing stronger than his own desires was his love for this one, infuriating girl. 

They laid together in silence, their breaths becoming normal, melting together as they stared into each others eyes, a world of emotions, questions and answers between them.

“I’m still angry with you,” she whispered, and he pulled her into the crook of his neck, marveling at how perfectly she fit there. 

“I know,” he turned her face up towards his, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “but I plan to spend the next eighty years or so making you angry, so you should probably get used to it.”


End file.
